


After Effects

by WastingYourGum



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e02 The Hounds of Baskerville
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 20:45:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14655879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WastingYourGum/pseuds/WastingYourGum
Summary: It's been a hellish night in Dewer's Hollow and Greg is more than ready to crash. Fate and Mycroft Holmes have other ideas...





	After Effects

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bigblueboxat221b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/gifts).



> Wishing a very happy birthday to bigblueboxat221b! Hope you like your present!

Greg screwed his eyes shut but the flash of the explosion was burned on his retinas. A bright starburst with a small silhouette at the centre.

"That wasn't another hallucination, was it?" he heard Henry Knight ask.

"No," John replied in a strained voice. "That was a Claymore - or something similar."

Greg cleared his throat. "Any chance he--"

"No." John was definite.

"And even if he had, we couldn't reach him," Sherlock pointed out.

"No. Suppose not," Greg said. He blinked his eyes a few more times. The image gradually faded.

"What happens now?" Henry asked.

 _A shitload of paperwork probably_ , Greg thought.

"I'm sure these gentlemen will tell us." Sherlock gestured to the rapidly approaching lights of a pair of army trucks, bouncing towards them around the perimeter of the minefield.

"Red caps probably," John said. "Military police."

He and Greg hastily tucked away their guns.

Sure enough when the vehicles stopped, they disgorged several burly uniformed men with red stripes around their caps who politely informed them that since the Grimpen Minefield was MOD property, the Military Police would be handling the investigation from here, thank you very much, but they'd be happy to make sure the gentlemen got safely back to their lodgings.

Greg almost felt guilty about how relieved he was to be told to go back to his room at the Inn and wait to be contacted in the morning. All the relaxation he'd achieved on his holiday in California had evaporated into the mist of Dewer's Hollow, leaving nothing but lingering jet-lag. Now the adrenalin of the past few hours had worn off, a bone-deep weariness had crept over him. All he wanted was a stiff drink or several, a warm bed and as many hours of oblivion as he could get away with.

"Will you be OK?" he asked Henry. The young man was wound tighter than a watch, nervously jiggling his leg up and down as he sat next to Greg in the back of the truck temporarily acting as their taxi.

"Yes, yes. I think so. I just… it's a lot."

_You're not wrong there..._

"I've phoned Doctor Mortimer," John said. "I explained what happened. Well, I explained it's over anyway. She's going to meet us at the Inn and take you home."

"Right. Right. That's… good. I need to say sorry to her. About the… everything."

"She got a fright but she knows it wasn't really you," John reassured him. "She'll probably recommend you take something to help you sleep. I'd recommend that too."

He sat back and muttered, "Might take some myself."

 _Not gonna be a problem for me..._ Greg's eyelids were already coming together. If he could stay awake long enough to make it to his bed he was pretty certain the full Band of the Coldstream Guards could march past and he wouldn't hear them.

The truck came to a halt and the tailgate dropped. "Here you are, gents. Cross Keys Inn."

They hopped down from the back of the truck - or, more accurately, John half-jumped out with an easy familiarity, Greg and Henry scrambled out awkwardly and Sherlock stepped imperiously off the tailgate and landed lightly on the ground, with his coat billowing round his legs.

_Drama Queen…_

Greg vaguely registered Henry, John and Sherlock moving to greet a woman he assumed must be Doctor Mortimer. He stumbled towards the Inn's door - which was locked.

 _Of course it bloody is. Sensible people are all tucked up in bed at this hour…_ Greg sighed as he fished in his pockets for his keys.

The first one didn't fit.

The second one fitted but wouldn't turn.

"Those are the keys for your flat, Lestrade." Sherlock materialised beside him, removed Greg's key from the door and inserted his own.

"Oh."

"You look as tired as I feel, mate." John patted him on the shoulder before following Sherlock into the Inn. "See you in the morning, yeah?"

_Yeah…_

"Greg?"

 _What? Oh..._ "Yeah, sorry John. Absolutely knackered. Sorry."

"It's been a hard day's night, that's for sure. Sleep well." John followed Sherlock up the stairs and vanished.

Greg shuffled through the reception area and paused at the bottom of the stairs. He put his hand on the railing.

_Final push, here we go..._

"Mr Lestrade?"

He turned to find the large innkeeper - _Gary, was it?_ \- holding out a bottle of Dalmore single malt whisky.

"That's the best we have in, hope your husband is OK with it."

"My...?"

"He got here about half an hour ago. Said you'd be wanting a whisky when you got in."

"My... husband said that?" Greg was starting to feel like he was having an out-of-body experience as his tired brain slowly detached itself from reality.

"Yep. Very smart looking gentleman if you don't mind me saying. Better not let my Billy see him - he's got a thing for sharp suits. God knows what he saw in me. I just look like a bouncer in one."

_"Smart-looking"... "sharp suit"..._

Greg sighed.

_Mycroft fucking Holmes… that's all I need..._

He took the proffered bottle. "Well, I could say the same I suppose. Not the snappiest dresser myself."

"Ach away. I bet you scrub up well." Gary clapped him on the shoulder and headed back into the area behind the front desk. "Goodnight, Mr Lestrade."

"Night."

Greg trudged up the stairs and along the corridor, cradling the bottle in his arms like a baby.

He didn't have to worry about finding his room key - the door was slightly ajar and softly lit by the bedside tables.

"I'm sorry I missed our wedding - was it a nice do?" he asked as he nudged the door open with his toe.

Holmes was sitting in one of a pair of wingback chairs by the window. Between the chairs stood a small round table with a carafe of water and two empty whisky tumblers.

Greg placed the bottle beside the glasses. He took his coat off and threw it across the bed.

"Apologies. It seemed the most expedient way both to gain access to your room and to gain sympathy from the innkeepers."

"And you need their sympathy because?" Greg pulled his gun from where it was nestled in the small of his back, unloaded it and checked it, all on auto-pilot.

Holmes nodded towards the weapon. "Among other things, Sherlock will have to break the news to them tomorrow that one of you was forced to shoot their dog."

Greg carefully placed the gun in the room safe and then carelessly threw himself into the unoccupied chair. He looked at the bottle, wondering if he could will it to open and pour itself by the power of thought alone. "That was John, I think. I shot right through it, seemed much bigger than a dog-sized dog."

"Wait - how do you already know about that?" he asked, looking up at Holmes.

"I received an initial report into tonight's events from Baskerville shortly after arriving here. It included details of the unfortunate death - and Doctor Frankland's," Holmes replied.

"Huh. Pretty fucked up if you're mourned less than a vicious dog."

"Indeed."

 _Didn't think I said that out loud… Oh well..._ Greg looked back at the bottle which was still stubbornly unopened.

Holmes _tsk_ 'ed and reached for the bottle. He poured two very generous measures, added a splash of water to each and handed one to Greg who stared down at it.

Holmes took a sip from his glass and then used it to gesture towards Greg's. "I believe if you want to drink any you will have to raise the glass to your mouth," he prompted.

"Getting there." The water mixed with the whisky and made swirls in the glass like pouring milk into tea. It was oddly soothing watching it.

A few moments later long, elegant fingers closed around the rim of his glass and gently removed it from his grasp, setting it back on the table.

"Here."

Holmes put a hand under Greg's arm and lifted him up out of the chair. He guided him over to the bed, whipping Greg's jacket out of the way before he sat on it.

"I'm sorry, Lestrade. I hadn't realised the extent of your exhaustion."

"S'OK. Just been a long night. Your arsehole brother didn't mention anything about nerve agents or bloody big dogs."

 _He should be doing something else now. What was it? Shoes. He should take his shoes off..._ Except they were already off and being carried across the room by Holmes who set them in front of the wardrobe.

"Never liked bloody big dogs," Greg informed the carpet.

"They're not a particular favourite of mine either," Holmes replied as he returned. He gently pushed at Greg's shoulder. "Lie down, Lestrade."

"Yeah. OK."

Greg tipped sideways and swung his legs up onto the bed as his head hit the pillow.

The last thing he saw was Holmes taking his phone out and holding it to his ear.

He vaguely heard him saying something about "back in the morning" and "side effects" but then nothing…

 

* * *

 

_The Hound was out there._

_In the mist._

_Somewhere close._

_He could_ feel _it stalking him. Feel its eyes on him._

_A sudden noise of a twig snapping underfoot behind him. He swung round, gun raised, but there was nothing._

_Just the mist._

_Swirling like water in a whisky glass._

_Another noise behind him, a low growl this time that made every hair on the back of his neck stand up._

_He should turn round._

_He didn't want to turn round._

_The Hound's breath was hot on the back of his neck. It snarled and leaped towards him._

_Greg screamed -_ and his eyes shot open.

"It's alright. You're safe. Breathe."

The room was in darkness but there was a sliver of light shining under the door he was facing; enough for him to recognise that this wasn't his home.

"What-- Where--" His heart was going like a jackhammer. His tried to lash out but his arms were trapped.

" _Breathe_."

Greg went still, forced himself to count to four on each inhale and exhale and tried to ground himself.

He was in his room at the Cross Keys in Devon, still dressed, lying on his left side on the bed, on top of the sheets but under a blanket.

Someone was lying directly behind him and their arm was wrapped over him, holding him securely with surprising strength.

The someone was Mycroft Holmes.

Greg's face started heating up.

"Did I… did I scream just then?"

"Not as such but you did make a noise. I was concerned the gas may not be fully out of your system. Flashbacks are a common side-effect so I thought it would be best if I stayed to observe you until morning," Holmes said. "You seemed to be in some distress so I anticipated you may need to be restrained and offered some reassurance."

He was irritatingly calm, as if cuddling a fully grown man who was acting like a frightened toddler was a perfectly natural occurrence.

"Thanks," Greg said. "You didn't need to."

"You did me a great favour agreeing to come here and it would be poor repayment to leave you alone after such a traumatic experience."

"I'm sure you have better places to be."

"Possibly - but this was my choice. However, if you are uncomfortable..."

Holmes's arm relaxed its grip and he rolled away.

Greg was keenly aware of how exposed his back suddenly felt.

"Mycroft…"

The body behind him stilled.

"I…" Greg's throat seized as his vocal cords refused to embarrass him further.

Then the bed dipped behind him, the warmth returned to his back and the long, lean arm resumed its former position.

"Try to get some more sleep, Lestrade."

Greg let out a long exhale. "Thank you." He closed his eyes again. "And... it's Greg."

"Good night, Greg."

"G'night, M'c'of'"

 

* * *

 

The distant hum of a vacuum cleaner was the next thing he was aware of. Thick red curtains were doing their best to keep sunlight from blazing in but they could only do so much and the whole room was tinged a deep pink.

Greg's mouth tasted like he'd eaten the bottom of Dewer's Hollow though his stomach was painfully empty.

He turned his head to the other side and came face to face with Mycroft Holmes.

His empty stomach suddenly clenched for a different reason.

God, he'd been all kinds of pathetic last night - and in front of Mycroft Holmes of all people. The most un-touchy-feely person Greg knew.

Holmes was lying face down with his arms tucked up underneath his body. He was in his waistcoat and shirt sleeves with his tie discarded and top button undone. It was the most underdressed Greg had ever seen him.

His face was much softer in sleep, like a hard mask had slipped off in the night, and his usually perfectly coiffed hair was in gently tousled disarray.

Greg smiled. He was sure he was getting to see something nobody else did.

Mycroft Holmes.

Human.

 _Attractive_ human.

Greg's breath caught as a rusty part of his libido suddenly whirred into motion.

He'd been totally upfront from the start with his ex about his sexuality but for some reason while she had never minded him appreciating other women - from a distance - she'd always frowned on him looking at men that way.

So he'd stopped looking.

But her rules didn't apply anymore. He could look now. So he did.

And he very much liked what he was seeing.

Even if it was only for a few stolen moments before Mycroft woke up and put that mask back on.

_He's really quite adorable like this…_

Greg's smile widened into a grin. Mycroft would probably have him shipped off to Siberia if he called him adorable to his face.

There was a tap at the door. Greg froze but Mycroft only made a small noise and settled further into the bedcovers.

Greg carefully slid out of the other side of the bed, keeping his eyes fixed on Mycroft the whole time. Satisfied he hadn't woken him, he turned to the door and opened it open the few inches the safety chain allowed.

Gary was there holding a huge tray with what looked like enough to feed the five thousand.

Before Gary could draw breath, Greg held up a finger to his lips. Gary nodded and in a barely audible whisper said, "Enjoyed the whisky then?" followed by a large wink.

Greg glanced back to where his whisky stood still untouched from the night before.

"Yeah… Is that all ours?"

"Breakfast for two, eight a.m. as ordered. Other half still asleep is he?"

"Yeah, he was pretty done in by the trip. I'll take that, cheers." Greg undid the chain and opened the door enough to take possession of the tray. It weighed a ton. "What time's checkout again?"

"Ten - but you're booked in tonight as well."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. Got my days muddled."

"Aye. Good whisky'll do that. You boys take your time." Gary theatrically tip-toed back up the corridor, giving Greg a cheery wave before vanishing back down the stairs.

Greg closed the door with his foot, staggered across the room and put the tray down on the table in the corner.

"Black, no sugar please."

Greg turned to face the bed. "Sorry, I was trying to be quiet but they seem to have given us six breakfasts by mistake."

"I wasn't certain what you'd feel like so I may have over-ordered." Mycroft had somehow managed to sit up, smooth his hair, find his tie and be back to his pristine best in three seconds flat. The lack of shoes was the only giveaway he'd slept in his clothes.

"No problem. What I don't have now, I can keep for second breakfast on the way back to London."

A tiny smile suggested itself at the corner of Mycroft's mouth. "I don't think he knows about second breakfast."

Greg was delighted. "I could just about imagine you being a fan of the books but I'm surprised you've seen the films."

"Tolkien has long been a favourite. I vastly prefer the books but the films were… competent adaptations."

Greg poured two cups of coffee. He handed one to Mycroft before loading his up with milk and several spoonfuls of sugar.

He kept his eyes fixed on the cup as he stirred the sugar in. "Listen, Mycroft - about last night…"

"You needn't concern yourself, Lestrade. It's all under the auspices of the M.O.D. now."

"No, I meant… after that. Here."

"As I said, you were cleary still suffering after-effects of the gas and it would have been irresponsible of me to leave you in that condition."

"Yeah, but... "

"I honestly didn't mind."

"Still…"

"Lestrade..."

Greg stopped stirring and looked up to find that Mycroft was now standing right next to him. They were as close as they'd been when Greg had awakened but this time Mycroft's eyes were wide open - and impossibly blue.

"I wanted to stay."

_Oh.... Still he might not mean..._

"In fact…" Mycroft put down his coffee, reached out and put his hand on Greg's arm. "It was my genuine pleasure to do so."

Greg studied Mycroft's face for even a hint that he was reading this situation wrong - but no, the mask was still off. He was talking to real live _human_ Mycroft Holmes.

Greg let go of his teaspoon. "Right. Mine too. I mean…Not pleasure. Having a nightmare's never a pleasure but... it was nice having someone there when I woke up."

_In for a penny…_

Greg locked on to those blue eyes. "It was nice having _you_ there when I woke up."

That hint of a smile was back again. "I felt likewise," Mycroft said. "So nice that when I woke earlier I decided to close my eyes again for ten minutes."

"You mean you were awake when..."

"I thought you may appreciate the opportunity to leave unobserved so I feigned sleep."

"You were giving me the chance to save face."

"Yes."

"And instead I decided to spend a few minutes looking at yours."

"That was unexpected - but far from unwelcome."

"Shouldn't be unexpected. It's quite a nice face."

"I'm flattered you think so."

The short distance between them had slowly closed as they were speaking. Greg was now close enough to feel Mycroft's breath.

"I have always found your face to be a most welcome sight," Mycroft confessed.

"You never even hinted..."

"I was previously less certain of your reaction - and we were never truly alone."

"Well we're alone now… and married apparently, so I guess anything's fair game."

The smile blossomed from just a hint to light up Mycroft's whole face. "The room is booked until tomorrow..."

"Seems a shame to waste it then. Same for this lovely breakfast."

"I don't usually indulge - but I think I may need the energy today." Mycroft reached down and without once taking his eyes from Greg's, picked up a small round pastry and popped the whole thing into his mouth.

"Really?" Greg stretched forth, managed to unerringly put his fingers right into a small lake of baked beans, brought what he really hoped was a sausage up to his mouth (it was thank God), bit the end off it and - while trying and completely failing not to laugh - asked, "Why will you need the energy if we're going to spend all day in bed?"

Mycroft giggled.

Mycroft Holmes. _Giggled_.

Greg hadn't heard anything so wonderful in ages. Something lifted and settled into a warm glow inside him.

Mycroft picked up a napkin from the tray, took Greg's hand and wiped the tomato sauce from his fingers. "There will be some smoothing of ruffled feathers required at Baskerville so alas the whole day isn't an option but I'm sure we're not expected anywhere before lunch. May I make a proposal?"

"Thought we were already married?" Greg couldn't remember the last time, hell _any_ time he'd found it this easy to flirt with someone.

"I propose we enjoy this hearty breakfast, shower and then go back to bed."

Greg pretended to mull the question over before replying, "I accept your proposal, Mr Holmes."

Mycroft lifted Greg's now clean hand to his lips and kissed it. The impossibly blue eyes held a definite twinkle.

"Mycroft."

"Mycroft," Greg repeated. He gestured to the spread on the table. "Shall we?"

"I rather think we shall… Greg. Shall I brighten things up?" Mycroft cracked open the curtains enough to let a strong shaft of sunlight fall across the table before taking his seat. He smiled at Greg as he reached for his coffee cup.

Greg sat down opposite him and returned the smile as he pulled one of the hot plates towards him.

_You already did…_

 

* * *

 

Greg woke for the third time that day feeling more relaxed than he had in months.

Mycroft was sitting at the table working on a laptop. He was wrapped in a fluffy white bathrobe.

Greg wasn't wearing anything. He hadn't even bothered putting deodorant on after his shower. He'd climbed straight into bed and that was the last thing he remembered.

"What time is it?" Greg asked.

"A little after twelve, "Mycroft replied, closing the laptop. "You were sound asleep when I finished my shower. It seemed a shame to disturb you."

Greg rolled onto his back and put his hands behind his head. "Wide awake now - and looking forward to being disturbed."

Mycroft stood up and approached the bed. "I'm not sure 'disturbing' is the adjective I'd wish to aim for on such an occasion."

"No? What were you thinking of?"

"Looking at you now the word that springs to mind is 'breath-taking'."

"Charmer."

"At international diplomatic level," Mycroft confirmed. He tugged loose the belt of his robe and let it fall open.

Greg's mouth went dry. He shifted to one side of the bed and lifted the bedcovers. Mycroft slid in beside him, letting the robe fall from his shoulders to one side.

His nervousness must have shown. "Are you still alright with this?" Mycroft asked.

"Yeah… been a while though."

"For me too. Why don't we start slow and see how it goes?"

Greg nodded. "You _are_ good at this negotiation stuff."

"One of the best." Mycroft cupped Greg's face with the palm of his hand and leaned forward.

Their first kiss was the barest contact, enough only for lips to slightly cling together before parting again. Then again. Then again. Each time a little longer. Then mouths opened, hands started to wander and suddenly they were pressed together, chest to chest, thighs tangled between thighs, hands grabbing at arses, backs, shoulders, everywhere and anywhere they could reach until by some unspoken signal they both reached down at the same moment - and smacked their knuckles painfully together.

" _Fuck_...So much for 'slow'," Greg said with a breathless laugh.

"Indeed. I feel perhaps a little preparation may be in order before things progress too much further."

"Yeah. Shit - I don't think I've got anything."

Mycroft pointedly looked past Greg's shoulder to the bedside table behind him. Greg twisted round to follow his gaze.

"Is that… is that a _gift basket_?"

"It appears so. I asked the proprietors for a few essentials and they have more than generously provided."

"Oh my God." Greg stretched backwards, grabbed the small wicker basket and brought it back over to sit between them. It was overflowing with a wide selection of lube and condoms.

"Any preference for colour or flavour? I think we have the full fruit salad here."

"I will defer to your choice."

"Right. I think plain will be fine for now." Greg grabbed a couple of standard condoms and handed them to Mycroft before stretching back to replace the basket.

Mycroft sat up onto his knees. "May I?"

"Yeah." Greg lay back and stroked Mycroft's thigh as he tore open the wrapper with his teeth.

Mycroft expertly unrolled the condom down Greg's cock, giving it a gentle squeeze when he finished. He then repeated the process on himself and moved so he was lying along Greg's body with his weight on Greg's hip.

"Alright?"

"More than. C'mere," Greg's growl turned into a gasp as Mycroft's long fingers took a firm grip of both their cocks. " _Jesus_."

"I hope you don't mind me taking the lead," Mycroft murmured. "I believe my hands are more suited to the task."

"Y-yeah."

"However I'm very much looking forward to experiencing those thick powerful digits of yours up my arse later."

Greg's brain came to a full halt at the mere thought. It fired back into life when Mycroft kissed him and started slowly grinding his hips, allowing Greg's cock to slide against his while his fingers stroked over the head.

Greg came up for air which Mycroft took as an opportunity to switch to gently teasing his nipples with teeth and tongue.

Greg clutched desperately at the bedsheets. It was too much. He tried to calm himself but Mycroft's hand exerted just the right amount of pressure, his tongue flicked over Greg's nipple and as Greg gasped for air all his senses were overwhelmed with the scent and sound and feel of something he'd denied himself for too long.

"Fuck, Mycroft... I'm.. I'm gonna..."

"Yes. Do."

" _Jeeeesuus_..."

Greg's vision whited out as he came so hard he honestly thought he might have momentarily fainted. When he came back to himself he was rewarded with the sight of Mycroft's head thrown back, the muscles taut in his neck as he too climaxed, his cock throbbing against Greg's stomach.

Mycroft's head dropped to Greg's shoulder and they lay there panting for breath for a few seconds.

"So..." Greg gasped. "You wanna try strawberry for the next round?"

Mycroft's shoulders shook with laughter. "As long as the next round is several hours away," he replied. He lifted his head to give Greg a small peck on the lips. "Thank you. That was wonderful."

"That was embarrassingly quick. That's what that was."

"I think 'intense' would be a better description. We both had some rather pent up energy to expel."

"I was recovering from facing a hell-hound - what had you pent up?"

"You did, " Mycroft admitted. "I've wanted you for months now. You've no idea the self-control it took not to wake you earlier after your shower."

"I'm glad you didn't. Finding it hard enough to stay awake right now as it is."

"Good things do indeed come to those who wait."

"Or on those who wait. Or in." Greg couldn't resist giving him another small kiss.

"I do hope so - but for now we should probably clean up a little and take a light lunch before I head to Baskerville. I have some aggrieved soldiers to mollify."

"And then you'll come back here?"

"We still have strawberry to try - and several other things."

"Then I'll be waiting."

Mycroft made to move away but Greg held him tight.

"Mycroft?

"Yes?"

"Thank you. Nobody's made me feel this cared for in ages."

"It was -is - my genuine pleasure, Greg."

"Mine too. Now... let's go find some lunch."


End file.
